3 am.

all the dayI gather my broken pieceswith my handssettle them downwash them offand striveI shine like sun. all the nightI break myselfinto dejected pieces again3 am. is a fightit ruins allI talk to my ghost. -SHREYA

Desolated

​ There she sits quietly in the nature’s lap Under the shadow of silver orb which she thinks who determined her fate Looking back the hard knocks she held in her life The heart which is no more fragile The soul which has turned barren.